


Spilt Milk

by KrolenaT



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:53:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27557917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrolenaT/pseuds/KrolenaT
Summary: “It wasn’t him, Illya. It was Solo. You shot Solo.”
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

Napoleon swept the room from left to right with the light on his rifle. The dark office was clear. He could hear the occasional shouts of the other agents clearing the other rooms in the chemical plant.

It was a nightmare, this place, with cluttered boxes and blind spots everywhere, convoluted corridors, and to top it off, there was no electricity. It was not unexpected to find it empty, because God forbid if they actually got lucky for once. The terrorists who had infiltrated the decommissioned plant and made it their base must have fled when they heard the UNCLE convoy coming in.

_Hmm._

He gravitated towards the big mahogany table in the middle of the room. There were some loose papers lying haphazardly on its surface, some on the floor beside it. Slinging his gun over his shoulder, and switching to his torch, Napoleon examined what looked like chemical equations scribbled on the papers.

He had no clue what they could mean. This was not at all his thing. Maybe Illya would be able to make sense of all these writings.

“Illya?” Napoleon spoke through his earpiece, “Kuryakin, come in.”

He frowned when there was no reply from his partner.

“Gaby?”

“Solo?” Gaby’s voice came through immediately.

“Is Illya with you?” Napoleon asked.

“No,” Gaby answered, “We’ve secured the perimeter, anyone who’s still in the building is not going anywhere. Where are you? Did you find anything?”

“Mmm. Maybe something, I’m not all that sure. Just some papers in the ground floor office, could be useless.”

Napoleon continued his search throughout the office. After five minutes of fiddling with the lock on a safe to find it empty, he sighed. Napoleon swiveled around towards the door, and aimed the barrel of his rifle at-

Illya shielded his eyes from the bright light with his hands.

“Peril!” He dropped his aim at the sight of his partner.

“Why didn’t you answer when I called?” Napoleon asked in frustration, while he gathered up everything he found into a box.

They could study them properly back at the headquarters. Maybe tomorrow, after he had gotten some sleep. When Illya stayed silent, Napoleon turned around again. His partner was still standing immobile at the foot of the door to the office, shrouded in the darkness.

“Illya?”

Still nothing.

Napoleon barely had time to react when Illya raised his arm.

He dove to his left instinctively, and the bullet took a chunk off the drywall where his head had just been. Fuck! He stayed low on the ground, as he retreated behind the heavy table. He crawled around the table, finger already on the trigger of his gun.

But what was he going to do? He wasn’t going to shoot at his partner? Not when there was something seriously wrong with Illya.

Another shot rang out, and it was pure luck that Napoleon stumbled over something at the exact same moment, and bullet only grazed his shoulder instead of going through his heart.

“Illya! What is-,” Napoleon yelled, “Gaby!”

The next thing he knew, he was lying face down, with his cheek pressed against the cold cement floor, body incredibly heavy.

_What-_

Something wet was sliding down his temple into his eyes. He tried to wipe it away, but his arms were pinned underneath his body.

_Illya was trying to-_

His head was pulled back up roughly, and then there was an arm around his neck, crushing his windpipe.

“Il, Ugh,” Napoleon choked.

_Fuck._ _Why?_

This was not like in that West Berlin men's room, where Illya was only half-heartedly trying to kill him.

This was it. Illya was killing him, for real this time. He was dying, he couldn't feel his body anymore.

And he didn't even know why. 

* * *

This was not the place had fallen asleep in. He had- They were in London, and they were staying at this fancy hotel that Napoleon- No, he hadn’t gone to sleep. The last thing he remembered was the raid at the chemical plant.

It took a few more seconds for him to realize that he was in UNCLE’s headquarters. More specifically, in the infirmary. He must have gotten attacked then. That would explain the throbbing in his head and shoulder.

“Illya?”

He turned his head towards the voice. Gaby was sitting on the couch in the other end of the room.

She leaned forward but made no move to come closer, “Illya? Are you really you?”

_What kind of question was that?_

Gaby looked tired. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she was still wearing the same clothes she had gone on the raid in yesterday. At least he hoped it had been just yesterday.

“Gaby?” Illya went to lift his arm but they were handcuffed to the bed. He tried again with the other arm, and it too was bounded to the metal frame of the bed. Illya’s heart skipped a beat.

He didn’t understand. What had he done?

“Illya, stop!” Gaby asked, and held out a key, “If I let you go, will you promise to stay calm?”

The loud rattle of metal against metal stopped instantly.

“I am calm,” He forced himself to remain still, as Gaby slowly uncuffed him

More of his memories from last night came filtering back by the minute. He remembered going from empty room to empty room, in the foul-smelling plant, when he saw…him.

Illya saw the man who started it all. The man who dragged his father off to the Gulag, and then came back the next day for his mother. Illya remembered freezing when he saw the familiar silhouette in the middle of the room. It had been decades, but he would never forget that face.

_Why was he in London?_

It didn’t matter. Not anymore.

“What happened? I got shot?” Illya brushed his fingers against the bandage around his chest.

Gaby’s shoulder slumped, “I’m sorry. I had to.”

Illya gaped, “You? You shot me?”

“You gave me no choice! You were going to kill him,” Gaby said, “You shot him in the head, Illya. What the hell happened?”

“Still alive?” Illya raised his head from the bed in alarm.

He hadn’t managed to kill him. That was…inconvenient. The man must be in UNCLE’s custody now then. It would be difficult to try again. But Illya would try again. Until it is done.

“He’s still in surgery. They haven’t told me anything more,” Gaby was scrutinizing him, brows deeply furrowed, “Illya, why did you-”

“Why did you stop me? He deserved to die,” Illya fumed. And Gaby had shot Illya to keep the bastard alive?! Of all people! She had no idea.

Illya would make her see why he had to do it.

* * *

The puzzle pieces clicked in her head. Gaby was beginning to understand what had happened to Illya.

He had mistaken Solo for someone else. But how could he have made the mistake? How could Illya Kuryakin have made a mistake like that?

Unless…this was linked to one of many bottles of chemicals which UNCLE had seized in the raid. Paired with the papers which Solo had found, they may be able to get to the bottom of this.

_Oh no._

Illya still didn’t know that he had almost-

Gaby licked her dry lips nervously, “Illya, who did you think it was, in the plant?”

“What?” Illya’s glare faded, “Shchukin.”

Gaby almost wanted to ask who that was, but now was not the time. She would find that out later.

"Oh, Illya," Gaby hated that she had to tell him. She shook her head, “It wasn’t him, Illya. It was Solo. You shot Solo.”


	2. Chapter 2

_ Nyet. _

_ It couldn’t be.  _

Illya knew what he saw. He saw the man who ruined his family, ruined his life.  Gaby was not making sense. 

Even now, the face in his memories were clear, it was Shchukin he had shot and strangled. He would never forget the ugly smirk on the bastard’s face. It was a mortifying feeling, not being able to trust his own mind.

This was not really happening, was it? Was he still dreaming? He must be. He couldn’t have made a mistake this big. 

“Illya stop, where are you going?” Gaby tried to push him back down onto the bed.

“Show me.”

Gaby sighed, “I told you, he’s still in surgery. We can’t see him just yet.”

Surgery. 

Because Illya had taken a headshot at his partner, his friend. He had pulled the trigger with every intention to kill his target. He wouldn’t have missed, but by some miracle he somehow had, because there wouldn’t be a need for surgery otherwise.

It chilled him to think that he had only been a hair’s breadth away from killing his friend. If Solo didn’t survive, he didn’t think he could either. He would not be able to live with this.

Illya dropped his head back down onto the pillow. Gaby had her hand around his wrist, “It’s not your-,” She gulped, “I think that you may have been drugged.”

“Gaby,” Illya gasped, a wrenching feeling bubbling up from his gut and was lodged in his throat, making it hard to speak.

Gaby couldn’t say it, because it was his fault. He must have messed up somehow and had gotten himself compromised.

“He’s going to be fine. He is. He’s Solo,” Gaby’s reassurances rang empty.

Illya tried to think past the anguish and guilt, to retrieve his memories of what happened before.

He couldn’t focus.

All he could conjure up in his mind was Napoleon Solo. His face, his smile, him calling Illya’s name...

_ “Illya!” Solo sounded terrified, “What is- Gaby!” _

_ He was on all fours, crawling away from Illya. There was nowhere he could have gone. Nowhere to hide. The room was barely illuminated by the moonlight, but it was not a problem for Illya. He had a clear aim at the moving shadow. _

_ Solo had his rifle with him. Hanging around his shoulder, useless. Why hadn’t he used it? _

_ Illya raised his gun with a single arm. He had taken satisfaction in watching Solo’s desperate attempts to get away. He watched for a second more, before his finger squeezed the trigger. _

_ “Rot in hell.” _

_ Illya had Solo in a headlock with his right arm. He could feel the jackhammering of Solo’s heart in his chest, and wishing that it would just stop already. _

Gaby tightened her hold on his wrist, “What did you remember?”

“Everything,” Illya croaked, his mouth barely moving.

* * *

Gaby cried herself to sleep. She had tried to be strong for Illya at the hospital, so that he wouldn’t feel any worse that he must already did. But when she was alone in her hotel room, it was safe to let it all go.  It had been a very long day. The breakdown was a culmination of sleep deprivation and worry. Worry for her partners, worry about how she had no idea what was going to happen, if they would ever be able to go back to how things were.

She recalled the look on Illya’s face when they were finally allowed to see Solo.

_ “There is no way to know the extent of damage until he wakes up,” The doctor’s face had been grim, “We would have to wait for the brain swelling to go down first. But I would have to warn you, that currently with what we can see…” He just shook his head. _

_ Gaby had clutched onto Illya’s arm for dear life while they stood at the foot of Solo’s bed, and Illya had just stared at their fallen partner with a shell-shocked look. _

When Gaby woke up the next morning, dried tears clinging to her cheeks, with a sense of purpose. She was going to do her job and find the people responsible for what had happened. 

She was going to make them pay.

For the next three days, Gaby started her morning by swinging by the hospital on the way to UNCLE, and the marble statue of Illya in beside Solo’s bed was a constant feature. 

He hasn’t been very talkative, not that Illya was ever talkative. Gaby had tried to engage him in the discussion about their current mission and how Gaby had reached a dead end with the investigations, and had only gotten grunts and one-word answers in return.

“You can’t just stay here all day,” Gaby finally asked when she had enough, “Illya, are you even listening to me?”

She sighed in exasperation, “Illya, please. We need to find the people responsible for this.”

Illya turned his head up at Gaby, “The person responsible. Me.”

“No,” Gaby said firmly, “This is not on you! Illya, I need your help, please.”

When Illya did not answer, Gaby had launched into a tirade at him. Something must have gotten through to him, because she didn’t see him in his usual spot when she visited Solo the next morning.

Gaby took a seat beside the bed. They had removed the ventilator earlier today.

_ “He’s breathing on his own, it’s a good sign,” The doctor had told her when she came in. _

Gaby thought that was still a world’s away from Solo actually waking up, but all of them needed some hope. Without the tube down his throat, Gaby could see his face better. It was rare to see Solo with facial hair.

She held his pliant hand in between hers. It was soft and warm, unlike Illya’s, whose hands were rough with scars and callouses. She ran her finger against the edge of his nails. Maybe she would have to help him cut them soon.

“You need to wake up soon, Napoleon,” Gaby never used his first name. It was always easier to yell at him using only two syllables, “And tell Illya what an idiot he is.”

“He didn’t mean it. You know that, right? It wasn’t him,” Gaby continued to talk, “Well, it was his hands and his gun, but our Illya would never.”

Gaby inhaled sharply when she felt his finger twitch.  She should not get her hopes up. Gaby held her breath as she watched his hand. Did that really happen, or had she just imagined it?

“Gaby.”

She jumped, “Sir, Waverly.”

Waverly had both hands in his pockets, “I must say, you’re the only person who knows how to get through to Agent Kuryakin.”

Gaby assumed that Waverly was talking about how she had managed to get Illya back to work. 

“He has found the chemical terrorists, their new base of operations. You had better go with him, make sure everything goes according to the mission plan.”

Gaby knew an order when she heard one.

“I’m sure Mr Solo will still be here waiting for you when you come back,” Waverly nodded at Gaby’s hands, still holding on to Solo’s hand. 

Gaby nodded. She gave his fingers a gentle squeeze, before finally letting go.

And she swore;

She swore that he had squeezed her hand back.


	3. Chapter 3

Gaby was in the passenger seat for once. Illya had both hands on the wheel, his steely gaze directed ahead and his jaw clenched tight.

“How’s your shoulder?” Gaby asked.

Illya shrugged without taking his eyes off the road, “Fine.”

“I think…Solo’s waking up,” Gaby said, trying to illicit some kind of reaction from Illya. He has yet to speak a full sentence to her since Gaby found him getting ready in the UNCLE armoury.

“Gaby, don’t,” Illya warned.

“They’ve taken him off the ventilator,” Gaby said.

“I know.”

“And his hand moved.”

Illya’s head whipped around in response.

“I felt him move,” Gaby insisted adamantly, “I won’t lie, Illya.”

“I know,” Illya repeated, bringing his focus back to the road.

Illya trusted Gaby. If she said that she saw it, he believes her wholeheartedly. But at the same time, he didn’t want her to become disappointed if nothing happened. He heard what the doctor said, they both did. The longer Solo remained unconscious, the more unlikely it was that he was going to wake up. And the past few days of holding vigil at Solo’s bedside only convinced Illya that there was a good chance he may not get his friend back.

Illya had never seen him so still, so unresponsive. The thick swathe of bandages around his head and shoulders had to be changed every day, and Illya found himself unable to look away whenever the nurses unwound the bandages and exposed the staples holding the angry deep furrow together above his ear. Agents from various departments came to visit at the hospital, and they had all given Illya the look after seeing the state Solo was in. The look of pity and condolence.

Illya pushed the spark of hope brought on by Gaby's words to the back of his mind. First, he had some bastards to kill.

His grip on the wheel tightened and he stepped harder on the gas.

* * *

They had far more success with the terrorist group on their second try. It took a whole night of work, but they managed to round up all of the terrorists without any casualties on their side. Illya even managed to get a confession out of one of them. The man had exposed Illya to the experimental vaporised hallucinogenic agent, when Illya cornered him in their lab. 

“Illya!” Gaby was walking briskly towards him, “What happened to him?” She gestured to the man keening loudly at his feet.

“Broken kneecaps,” Illya just shrugged.

The man should be grateful that Illya had left his skull intact. He nudged the man’s back with his boots to get him to stop making that annoyingly high pitched whine.

Gaby rolled her eyes, “Put him in the van with the rest,” but then she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, “Wait, Illya. You’re bleeding again.”

“Is nothing,” Illya brushed it off. He hadn’t even noticed he had torn his stitches, but it was not bothering him. He would take care of it later.

“No, leave him,” Gaby snapped her fingers at someone across the room and gestured to the guy at their feet, “Get him to the van. You,” Gaby dragged Illya away, “Are coming with me to take care of it now.”

Illya let Gaby pull him towards the car. Now that they have completed the mission, Illya felt lost. There was nothing else to occupy his mind with, and Gaby’s earlier words echoed repeatedly in his head. He wanted to believe it was true.

Gaby smoothed the sleeves of his shirt over the fresh bandages, “Done. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Illya muttered a thank you.

“Come, I’ll drive you back to the hospital,” Gaby tapped on his shoulder.

* * *

As it turns out, she was right.

Gaby and Illya spent the next week or so working on simple reconnaissance missions in the city. They took turns to be at the hospital. Illya usually drop by before heading to the office in the morning, and Gaby checked in after work in the evenings.

Gaby wiped the last of the shaving cream off Solo’s neck with the cloth and admired her handiwork. This was better, now that Solo was looking more like his clean-shaven self.

“Illya wouldn’t admit it, but I don’t think he’s sleeping enough ever since… Or eating enough. But you know what, I’m sick of always being the one nagging after him, after the both of you,” Gaby huffed, “Why can’t the both of you just-”

When Gaby had looked back up, all she could see were the blue eyes looking back at her.

“Ach du meine Güte!” Gaby exclaimed in shock, “Solo!”

Solo let out a soft moan.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Gaby lowered her volume to a whisper, “Don’t move. I’m going to go get the doctor, alright?”

Gaby was relegated to wait outside the room when the medical team arrived to assess Solo. She chewed at her nails as she waited. Why were they taking so long? What if...She has heard about people becoming amnesic or non-responsive after severe head injuries.

Gaby couldn’t wait to call Illya to tell him the good news, but she also didn’t want to leave in case the doctors were done and wanted to talk to her.

“Miss Teller.”

Gaby leaped up from her seat, “Is everything alright?”

“Quite, considering the circumstances,” The doctor smiled, “Mr Solo seems to have retained all of his mental functions and his memories. It’s a better outcome than any of us could have hoped for.”

“Now, I know you’re ecstatic that your friend is awake, but he is quite exhausted after our examination, and I have just given him another dose of painkillers, so try not to keep him up for too long.”

Gaby thanked the doctor and hurried into the room. Solo was still awake. The left corner of his lips lifted into a faint smile when he saw her.

“We thought you were never going to wake up,” Gaby gripped his hand tight. She never noticed how much she missed looking into his eyes.

“Hmmm.”

“How are you feeling?” Gaby asked.

“Drugged.”

Solo’s brows furrowed, “Gaby? Not…Ill…ya?”

She had to lean in closer to hear him.

“Ah. So you do remember what happened then. Well, it was Illya, but he wasn’t himself. He was exposed to a chemical at the plant, and that made him think you were someone else,” Gaby explained slowly.

“Oh.”

“Damn,” Solo breathed, his eyelids drooping close, “Mmm…Where he?”

Gaby pulled the blanket up towards Solo’s chin, “Get some rest, I’ll make sure he’s here when you wake up.”

* * *

He leaped out of bed when he got the call from Gaby.

“What? When?” Illya demanded, “Why didn’t you call me immediately?!”

For the first time in a week since the raid at the chemical plant, Illya could take a full breath without the crushing weight on his chest.

Fortunately, it was only a fifteen minute sprint to the hospital from his place.

Illya hesitated outside the door. Should he knock? Would Solo want to see him? Would Solo even remember what happened?

What was he going to say? An apology seemed…inadequate.

Illya gripped the handle and pushed the door open. He frowned at the sight. Solo’s eyes were closed, and his body still, like he had been for the past two weeks.

Gaby wouldn’t lie to him.

But what if it was a fluke, what if they had made a mistake?

Illya closed the door, and when he turned around again, Solo's eyes were on him. Illya forced himself to slowly move towards the bed, with Solo tracking his movement with his eyes.

That was good. Alertness was a good sign. It was always good to find out that he hadn't turned his friend into a vegetable.

“I…uh…I don’t know what to say,” Illya blurted out.

Solo’s lips formed the shape of the word, but it was too soft to hear.

_Peril._

“Yes, me. I’m here. Solo, I’m-,” Illya sat down, “I’m sorry. This is my fault. That you’re- do you remember?”

Solo blinked once.

Illya took that as a yes. He nodded and looked away, “I was not careful. They got the jump on me.”

What did Solo think about it? Illya would understand if he wished to change partners, if Solo decided to put the blame entirely on him. He could accept that. Hell, if this happened when Illya was still in the KGB, he would probably be severely punished.

Illya’s gaze was brought back to his bedridden comrade by a soft tap on his arm.

“Hey. Illya?” Solo jabbed a finger at his arm, “You…suck.”

It was so unexpected that Illya barked out a laugh.

“Yeah yeah. I’m the terrible spy this time, da?” Illya snorted.

Solo hummed in agreement.

“What did the doctor say?” Illya was almost afraid to know the answer. But Gaby hasn’t said anything so it shouldn’t be anything permanent or disabling.

Contrary to what people might think, Illya liked working with Solo. They work well together as a team, even though they might bicker all the damn time. Mostly because Solo made trying to light Illya’s short fuse his favourite pastime.

Illya didn’t like the silence which accompanied Solo’s absence one bit, and it cannot be sorely attributed to the guilt.

Past Illya would totally have enjoyed basking in the peace and quiet during stakeouts and the lack of distraction from writing his reports in the office, glad to be rid of the infuriating American. But current Illya has long gotten used to Solo’s commentaries and annoying work habits. The lack of both of those unnerved him. He even started to work with the radio on in the office because it was too quiet.

Illya didn’t want a new partner. He didn’t want to go on missions without Solo either.

“I’ll be fine,” Solo sighed, “As long as you don’t try and shoot me again.”

Illya bristled, “Not funny.”

“Not meant…to be funny,” Solo winced when he moved his head.

“I know,” Illya met Solo’s gaze, “Never happen again, I promise.”

Breaking that promise will be unacceptable.


	4. Chapter 4

“Damn it.”

Napoleon picked up the cuff link he was trying to put through his sleeve. He opened and closed his fist a few times, trying to shake off the feeling of weakness in his fingers. His fingers were not as coordinated and nimble as they used to be; A, hopefully temporary, parting gift from his brain injury, together with the migraines and fatigue. It wasn’t bad enough that the doctors had picked it up during their examinations, nor had his colleagues mentioned it. He could still do his job, but Napoleon could feel it, like a pebble trapped in his shoe, taunting him.

He would get better. It just takes time.

He could channel all his frustration and blame it all on his partner. Illya had messed up and Napoleon paid the price.

Of course, Napoleon knew that Illya hadn’t meant to. Nonetheless, he did nearly end Napoleon’s life. The only reason Napoleon wasn’t six foot under right now was because they got lucky.

Napoleon never relied on lady luck. The only sure thing he could rely on was himself, at least it was before UNCLE. Since then, he had two partners whom he could count on. Napoleon still trusted both Illya and Gaby to have his back, even after what happened. Past-Napoleon would never have forgiven Illya, no matter how much of an accident it was.

“Solo?”

_Ah. Speak of the devil._

Napoleon strode out of his bedroom. Illya set down a paper bag on the kitchen island, “Vanilla pastry. And I brought you some fruits too.”

It has been a month since Napoleon was discharged from the hospital, and Illya had stopped by every morning with breakfast before heading to UNCLE. At first it was because Napoleon was confined to bed rest and couldn’t get his own food. But Illya continued to bring him his breakfast, groceries, and even his dry cleaning. Napoleon just let him.

He knew what Illya was trying to do.

“Fruits?” Napoleon blew out a breath when he finally got the cufflink in place with a click.

“Yes, oranges.”

Napoleon wrinkled his nose, “I don’t like oranges.”

“Don’t be picky,” Illya chastised, “They are very fresh, and very sweet.”

“Sure they are.”

Illya held his position, “I already bought it, so you have to eat it.”

Napoleon caught his reflection off the glass cabinet, and his hand rose habitually to smooth down the strands of his now shorter hair at the sides. They had to shave off some of it off, and it was taking its own sweet time growing back out.

“Or I can make you juice,” Illya held up one of his oranges.

“I’m not so keen on orange juice either,” Napoleon smirked to himself as he opened up the day’s newspaper which always came with his breakfast.

“I go get you other fruits?”

Illya was already halfway to the door, when Napoleon called out to him.

“Peril, no. I’m kidding. Orange juice is fine,” Napoleon nodded towards the paper bag full of produce, “You know, you don’t have to do this anymore.”

“It’s no trouble,” Illya checked his watch, “Eat your breakfast. You don’t want to be late on your first day back at work.”

Napoleon wasn’t supposed to go back to work yet, not according to his doctor. But he has been recovering nicely without much complication, and Waverly needed his help.

_“I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important.”_

_Napoleon inhaled deeply, “It’s okay. I can do it.”_

* * *

“Well well, look who’s back,” Gaby wrapped his arms around Napoleon and squeezed.

Napoleon leaned into the hug, “How I’ve missed the stale, musty air.”

The rest of the agents crowded around him, welcoming him back to the office with hugs and handshakes. Napoleon took his time to catch up with everyone.

"Nice haircut."

Napoleon chuckled, "Piss off, Landon."

“How’s the baby doing, June?” Napoleon asked the junior agent.

“She’s doing great, Solo. A handful already. I’d love for you to meet him.”

“Absolutely. I’d love to meet baby Monroe.”

Illya suddenly appeared, and shoved a mug into Napoleon’s hands, “Here. Water.”

“Uh,” Napoleon had no choice but to close his fingers around the ear of the mug, “Thanks.”

“Sit?” Illya motioned to a chair.

“No, It’s-”

“Solo! Kuryakin!” They were being summoned into the briefing room by Waverly.

Napoleon put the mug down and followed Illya into the room.

“It’s good to see you back at the office, Mr Solo,” Waverly gestured for the both of them to take a seat.

“It’s good to be back, sir.”

“Arms trafficking?” Illya asked beside Napoleon. He has already halfway through skimming the file placed in front of them.

Waverly nodded grimly, “I need the two of you in Santorini by dawn.”

Waverly pointed to a photograph, “Theodore Savisaar is the target. He is spearheading the logistics of shipping the firepower across the Atlantic and Mediterranean. Our intel suggests that the shipment will be arriving before the end of the week, and we need the both of you to find out when and where exactly without tripping off any alarms, so that we can intercept the shipment.”

“Gaby coming?” Illya asked.

“She is running point on another mission here in London. We’re stretched pretty thin at the moment. It’ll just be the two of you.”

Napoleon clasped his hands together, “Where do we start?”

The chair creaked as Waverly leaned back, “The Savisaar residence.”

Napoleon studied the blueprints and information the seaside mansion. Armed guards at the gate, predictable. Locked entrances and windows rigged with alarms, hardly an obstacle for him. There was also a photograph of Theodore’s bedroom attached, and a note commenting on a switch for a secret passageway hidden behind a Degas painting on the wall.

“Hidden vault,” Waverly tapped his finger on the photograph ,"A copy of the shipping manifest will be in that vault."

Napoleon chewed on his lip, “Do we have any more information on the vault?”

“Unfortunately not.”

The file also noted that Savisaar’s guards patrol around the mansion every half hour. It should be more than enough time for Napoleon.

Illya spoke up, “We wait for the house to be empty, I’ll go in, take a photo of the manifest. Solo can keep a lookout.”

Napoleon thought that he had heard wrongly. He turned and shot Illya a look. Even Waverly was looking rather perplexed by Illya’s suggestion.

Napoleon shook his head, “I’m sorry. Have I actually woken up in an alternate dimension where you’re now the expert on safe cracking?”

Illya shrugged nonchalantly, “You’ve taught me how.”

“I taught you the basics,” Napoleon scoffed, “We don’t even know what kind of vault he has. You’re not going to make it in time.”

“I think,” Waverly interrupted with a raised hand, “That we should leave the vault to Mr Solo.”

Illya nodded without hesitation, staring at Napoleon, “Sure, of course. Whatever you need me to do.”

_They were off to a good start then._

“Alright, that’s settled then. All the best, gentlemen.”

They stood up to leave. Napoleon walked behind Illya, and when they reached the corridor outside the offices, he grabbed Illya’s arm, “Illya.”

Apart from willingly becoming Napoleon’s help every morning, and the constant stream of apologies whenever Napoleon had a setback in his recovery, Illya has been tiptoeing around Napoleon ever since he woke up at the hospital. He was still acting like himself, callous and bossy as always, but with the underlying current of pretending that he wasn’t hovering, while doing exactly that.

Napoleon didn’t need this version of Illya. He needed someone he could trust to watch his back, not someone who was itching to jump in front of a bullet for him to prove how sorry he was for putting one into Napoleon’s skull.

* * *

“We need to talk,” Solo pulled him towards the wall, letting people pass them by.

Illya let himself be pulled along. It didn’t seem like Solo wanted to talk about the mission.

“What was that?” Solo hissed. He looked upset.

Illya shushed him, “Calm down.”

“I am calm. I-,” Solo crossed his arms, “I can take care of myself you know? I don’t need a keeper.”

_Ah._

Solo didn’t want Illya’s help anymore. He had an inkling that the American was going to complain about it sooner or later.

“Just being helpful,” Illya held up his hands, “But I’ll leave you alone. If that’s what you want.”

This had been Gaby’s idea. According to her, Illya was moping around too much and was pulling her down with his doom and gloom. She said that he should just focus his ‘very depressing’ energy on getting Solo better and getting the team up and running again.

It was difficult at first. Illya was not used to taking care of people. Where he grew up, everyone fended for themselves, and those who couldn’t were just left behind. But Solo and Gaby were different. They’ve been looking out for one another ever since Solo had fished Illya out of the bay at the Vinciguerra’s. Looking after Solo made Illya feel useful, like he was righting something he did wrong.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Solo shook his head, and then gave Illya one of his genuine smiles, “Look, thank you Illya, really, for the past few weeks. But I’m fine now. And you know how much I value my independence.”

“Like I said, it’s no problem,” Illya answered with a shrug, “Does that mean you don’t want a lift?”

“I’ll see you at the airport,” Solo clapped Illya on his shoulder before he walked away, hands in his pockets.

It was a good sign, that Solo was complaining. That meant he was doing fine.

“Illya,” Gaby called out from behind him, “Waverly told me, Greece huh?”

“Yes,” Illya moved closer, “We’re flying off tonight.”

It was Illya’s first mission abroad since the accident, with Solo no less. He would never admit it, but he was a little nervous about working with Solo again. Illya was not sure where they stood with each other. Did Solo still trust him as much as he did before?

Gaby put on her sunglasses, “So you’ve got enough time for lunch with me,” She dragged Illya out into the street.

* * *

By the time Illya reached the airport at midnight, Solo was already waiting for him on their jet. Illya walked past the empty cabin towards the rear where Solo was, hunkered down into his seat.

“Hey,” Illya took the seat across the aisle from his partner.

Solo put down the file he was reading. He rubbed at his eyes, looking exhausted, “Waverly just called. We’re to meet with the local UNCLE agent first thing when we land.”

“A meeting at five in the morning?” Illya huffed as he fastened his seatbelt.

“I don’t know, but it sounded urgent,” Solo shrugged, and then he flagged down the stewardess in charge of their flight for a glass of water.

Illya’s mind drifted back to his conversation with Gaby earlier that day:

_“Of course he’d say that. He’s Solo.”_

_“So? I should just leave him alone then?”_

_Gaby had smacked him on the back of his head for that one._

_Illya nodded sheepishly, “Right.”_

_“People don’t just bounce back from a coma so quickly, Illya. You and I know how good Solo is at pretending. And you know what the doctor said. If he hurt his head again, that’ll be it.”_

_“I know.”_

Avoiding injuries on their job was a tall order. Violence is an inherent part of the job, and if Illya walked away from a mission with only a concussion, it was considered a good mission. But now, even a simple concussion could land Solo into a coma, and he might not wake up from it the next time.

“The captain said that we’ll be taking off in three minutes.”

“Thank you, Cindy,” Solo smiled up at the stewardess as he took the offered glass.

Illya didn’t miss how the corner of Solo’s eyes were tight with pain. Solo popped two pills into his mouth and chased it down with the water. Illya knew Solo still suffered from headaches, he himself had admitted that. But in the same breath, Solo had brushed it off saying that they weren’t that bad.

“I need to know, Are you really up for this?” Illya asked.

It was for their own safety. If Solo got caught, he could put the both of them in danger. Not to mention if they failed, Savisaar would likely get off scot-free.

“I don’t exactly have a choice now, do I?” Solo raised an eyebrow, “I’m good. I know how important this is.”

Illya trusted that Solo would only tell him the truth. He didn't need to pretend with Illya.

The plane began its taxi down the runway.

"Maybe you should wear a helmet," Illya pondered out loud.

Solo scoffed, "I already have one. His name's Kuryakin."


End file.
